A Silent Story
by Snarkiness
Summary: Due to a terrorist's explosion, Hotch is losing his hearing. He begins to pull away from the team, secluding himself from the world. Emily wants to help pull him back, but first she has to understand him. With a man so complicated, it won't be easy.
1. A Laugh at Irony

The sound came and went.

It was funny, really, if you looked at it in a philosophical manner. The man who spent his life speaking for those who couldn't speak; hearing what they couldn't say and interpreting it could no longer hear at all. Maybe funny wasn't the right word. More like ironic. Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't been fairly warned. He had been fully aware of his actions when he had gotten on that plane, and again when he had chosen to go to the grave site. He had known there would be heavy machinery there. And for a last and final time when he had stood next to loaded guns pointed at a hostile witness. He had assumed they were going to shoot in the end. In fact, according to the profile, they would _have_ to.

The first right choice he had made was driving home. He couldn't take another plane ride. His ears had killed him the first time. There was always a slight buzzing, and he was quickly learning to hear through it until it was gone. If he didn't think about it he couldn't hear it, but it was always there. The pain was something that was also there consistently, and it wasn't something so easily ignored. Even the little things, like when Reid popped his gum, agitated and annoyed his ear drums. They were feeling sorely abused, and he was in need of a vacation.

He wouldn't take one.

Agent Aaron Hotchner had not taken a single sick day or vacation for himself since he had first joined the BAU. Yes, there was the supposed week the whole team was given off to celebrate, but that was not his own. Even that had been tainted by ruthless criminals, which were getting harder and harder to escape. They seemed to be getting smarter, and it was getting tougher for the good guys to keep up. Everyone knew it, but no one would ever say it out loud.

The drive home had done him good. Rossi had been right in suggesting it, and Hotch planned to thank him the moment he walked in the building. As it was, Hotch sat alone in his office, the blinds pulled and door shut. The light wasn't flipped on, but a small lamp on his desk shed enough light that total darkness shied away. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin as he winced slightly when every movement brought a creak of the overused chair, and his ears responded with a twinge of shooting pain. He had gotten it checked, and he had chosen to disregard the suggestions the doctor had given him. It was his own fault, and he couldn't blame anyone else.

Except maybe the bomber.

But he chose not to. It made it easier to just except the fact he would probably go deaf soon and deal with it early. Not that it wouldn't still hurt him when it happened, but it would cut the coping time in half or more. With an agitated sigh and a callused hand sliding over his face, he slid forward and rested his elbows on the desktop. He was about to rise and leave the room when Emily walked in, an unsure look on her normally eager face. Hotch immediately fought the urge to hide his face from her appraising gaze and looked at her head on, letting her know she couldn't intimidate him.

As if she would try.

"Yes, Prentiss?" He mentally cursed himself when she flinched away from the professional use of her name. He was trying not to pull away into himself, but these secluded times he was given weren't helping with the situation. If it kept on this way, he would soon be deaf _and_ alone.

"I just wanted to chec--see if you were ok." Emily screamed inside, anger with herself over-riding the moment. She had rehearsed this conversation over and over as she had sat outside the door, just trying to memorize it so she could spew it and leave. It was 'see if you were ok' not 'check on you', and she had screwed it up in a matter of five seconds. Of course, her over-eager mouth would be willing to shoot off its own choice without consulting her mind first. She should have known.

She hated profiling herself.

Her mental tirade was cut short when he responded with a curt, "I'm fine." It was obvious he was lying, and she thought about calling him on it, but in the end it was better to leave it alone. If she pushed too hard he would only pull farther away from her. It was the last thing she wanted. She wanted to learn to be closer to him, and to accept him flaws and all.

As more than her supervisor.

With a resigned nod and a sad smile, she began to back out of the office. She froze for a second when he kept talking, looking up hopefully to his shadowed face. If it weren't for the lamplight, she wouldn't be able to see him at all.

"Thank you."

She nodded again, finishing her retreat and shutting the door behind her. A smile blossomed on her face, and she tried not to giggle as joy filled her. She jogged down the steps, grabbed her purse, and left the Quantico Headquarters, making it safely into her car before she began to peal with giddy laughter, crying at the same time.

She was getting closer.

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**A/N- Guess what guys? I'm back. **


	2. A Minimal Loss

Oddly enough, Emily Prentiss had never been scared of being a hostage. She saw every day in her line of work for the FBI how short and precious life was, and the horrible things human beings could do to others. Her point of view on the subject had always been 'that is them, not me', but looking back she should have known better. She was always armed, and trained in self-defense. Nothing could touch her. It was as if she lived in a perfect plastic bubble, and the outside world was just that. Outside. Besides, if something were to happen to her, her team was always there to have her back.

She had never planned on her secure bubble being popped on a routine examination.

It was a religious society, and it was not the first complaint against their leader for sex with underage children. The FBI had only been called in because of the alleged weapons stash; but come on, it was a church! Emily didn't expect much, and the fact that they had sent her with Reid told her no one else did either.

Maybe they needed to look again.

As she was ushered through the cramped tunnel with a gun at her back, she had fought hard to stay calm and think straight. For all she had practiced at home and prided herself on, it was nothing compared to this. The realization that the last thing she had said to her team was 'be right back' weighed on her mind and taunted her as all the women and children were crowded into the underground room beneath the church. There were now several bulky men with machine guns that Emily could see, and she could hear the shooting from above her. Reid could hear it too; she could tell be his constant flinching and the panicked look on his young face. It wasn't the first time he had been taken hostage, and the last time he had been ruthlessly tortured. As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, that too had also been inflicted by a religious psychopath.

She remembered making a mental note never to enter another church with Spencer Reid.

But the rest of it had gone by in a rush. Even the beating she had endured to save Reid from another torture hadn't been so bad. She had made sure to let the team, whom she knew was listening, know she was just fine. She was a big girl, she could handle it. It did hurt like hell, though. A moment of irony came to her when she imagined asking Hotch to "kiss it better". Another blow to her ribs jolted that thought away and she cried out in an involuntary rush of pain. There were a couple rough hits to her delicate face, and some strong kicks to her stomach and sides. She prayed over the crunching of her ribs that they wouldn't be in here much longer, and that everyone except the bastard beating her would make it out in one piece.

Ha.

She should have known it wouldn't work out so easily.

Looking back, Rossi had played his part well. She hadn't seen it in him, having made a conscious effort not to profile her team members. But now looking closer at him, she should have seen the potential. He had done it before, and several times at that, no? Her respect for him rose greatly that day, and she hoped she would get a chance to formally thank him. Morgan's phrasing of her situation had, quite frankly, unsettled her.

"You have now been the antelope."

But Hotch was her main concern.

He was pulling himself farther and farther away, and it was just subtle enough to not notice if you weren't already watching. Instead of talking to his colleagues on the plane, he would stare out the window with his jaw set, obviously in deep concentration on something above their level. It upset Emily to think he didn't trust them enough to confide in them. She hoped that wasn't the case. She wanted so badly just to go over to him and say something about it, but she was sure her comments weren't welcome. Besides, she needed to talk to Reid first. She kept it brief, and while she had meant every word, her mind was in another place. She was dedicated to her job, but she had always put her friends and family first. Now was no exception. Excusing herself from the cramped table with a smile, she zoned in on her supervisor and headed toward his location in the back of the plane. Her swollen eye distorted distance slightly, but she was still able to place herself in the chair before him and smile through her bruised face.

"Hey."

He looked up at her, seeming to take a moment to zone in on her face. He tilted his head slightly, squinting his eyes in that way that made her smile when she was alone. For now, though, she just tilted her head back at him and waited for his answer. When it didn't come, she felt compelled to break the silence. It felt almost like he was profiling her, and she hated it.

"What's wrong?"

She couldn't help but notice how his eyes zoned in on her lips, following their movement as she shaped her words. She recalled in a brief but clear moment how he had done so ever since the explosion, and how Rossi had mentioned he had been in excruciating pain when a gun fired next to him. She had seen him knelt over, groaning and cradling his face, but she hadn't had time to think anything of it until now. She had told herself it was just a byproduct of the explosion, and it was temporary. It hit her with a sudden force that it was possible that he really couldn't hear her, and the bottom dropped from her world. The edges of her vision faded to black, and for a second all she could see was him. The realization was coursing through her, and she was in absolute shock that he would hide something like this from them. She was well aware he no longer had his wife and child to go home to every night, but the team was like his family. They deserved to know. The moment was broken when he thrust his chin up slightly and answered her, albeit belatedly.

"Nothing." He sped on, changing the subject quickly. "You took quite a beating today."

Emily nodded, trying to smile through her shock. Deciding it was better if she kept her knowledge to herself for now, she laughed slightly. "It really is worse than it looks." Almost subconsciously she touched her fingertips to her cheek, determined to show him she was fine. She winced, and then flinched again when she realized he had seen her. It was still tender, but she had felt worse.

"You know, Emily, you don't have to be strong around us."

The way he said her given name made goosebumps rise on her flesh. It really shouldn't have, and she told herself that sternly. Her mental rebuttal was that he had only recently ceased to call her Agent Prentiss, and the new lapse in formality was pleasing to her in that forbidden fruit way. Noticing he still watched her lips, she made sure to speak slower and more precisely. She prayed he wouldn't notice what she was doing; she didn't think he was ready for anyone to know just yet.

"I know."

He nodded, staring at her for a few extra seconds before turning his gaze back to the stars gliding by outside the window. Emily pushed herself to her feet, having assumed correctly that the conversation was over and it was her cue to leave. Her taped ribs made it hard to stand occasionally, and she had guessed they would. The bandages were stiff, and she had been told to avoid putting pressure on them, which included heavy movements. She rubbed them discreetly as she walked, heading toward the pullout beds in the back of the plane. Halfway there, however, she was stopped by a matter-of-fact voice that was wrapped in casualty.

"Did you notice too?"

She stopped, trying to see Rossi's face through the paper he was reading. He hadn't even looked at her when he spoke, but somehow she could feel his comment was directed toward her. After all; Reid was reading, Morgan was blocking out all sound with his headphones, and Hotch was in some faraway land trying to cope with something currently beyond her comprehension. She slowly walked toward him, settling herself gingerly on the leather seat beside him, wincing when the tape pulled at her swollen side. He folded the newspaper and set it in his lap, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She feigned ignorance, knowing he could see through her but wondering if he really meant to start this conversation.

"Notice what?"

"He's losing it, Emily."

She gave herself away by letting her eyes flicker over to where she had just come from, and she hoped her longing didn't show through her brown orbs. Snapping them back to Rossi right in front of her, his sad smile told her she had been profiled. She was glad Rossi could keep a secret. It felt wrong, somehow, to be in love with someone so out of your reach. So forbidden. Rossi had spent the most time with Hotch after the explosion, and she realized in a sudden rush that he could know something vital to her. At that moment, she felt that understanding Hotch was like breathing. Stretching out on a thin limb, she grasped for straws.

"How bad is it?"

"Enough. He shouldn't be here, and he knows it. He doesn't want to be home alone."

Emily nodded, the feeling understandable. It was nice to be able to clamp on to something she could digest. If Rossi knew, then Reid and Morgan would eventually notice. They all appreciated Hotch and the things he did for them, but how would they react to knowing their boss couldn't lead them? Morgan was the most likely to rebel, and for a moment Emily allowed herself to hate him for it. But she knew somewhere in her that when the moment came, she would want a change too. Several good things could come from Hotch leaving. For one, the man sorely needed a break from the everyday horrors. Two, he could regroup and reconsider his life. Prioritize things. Three...he would no longer be her supervisor, and therefore be a little closer to her outstretched arms. Her mind was drifting far beyond here and now, so she pulled herself back with a mumbled word to the man who had just confirmed her fears.

"Thanks." It was the only way she could think of to end an awkward conversation, and since he went back to his paper he must have accepted it. She felt numb as she made her way to the back of the plane and pulled out a bed, lying down but not sleeping for several hours after the lights had gone out. She felt lucky it was a long flight.

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**A/N- Sorry the story is moving so slowly, all. Thank you for the great reviews, and I hope you continue to enjoy it. I promise there are some extra H/E moments coming up, where they won't be surrounded by the team. ;)**


	3. A Chance Meeting

The waiting room of the otolaryngologist's building was a blinding shade of sterile white. The attendant glanced up from her writing, brunette hair falling into her young face as she surveyed the man who had just entered and set off the chiming bell. He was more professional looking than any she had seen walk through those doors in her six years of working here. He held himself stiffly, and he was either very proud or he didn't want to be here. She wondered what his problem was, because he didn't seem like someone who could have troubles. A second glance, though, showed her the worn lines in his face and the hidden depths to his eyes, and Jessica knew that he had seen many horrific things. With a slight wince, she turned back to her paper and gave him time to come to her.

It took several minutes, but eventually a shadow passed over her cubicle, and she knew without looking it was the man. He pulled his wallet out of a pocket inside the lining of his shirt, and there was a brief moment of panic when Jessie saw the gun attached to his belt. She felt her muscles tense and she was prepared to reach for the emergency button under her desk, but he gave her a tense smile and flipped open what she had assumed was his wallet. It was actually an FBI identification card, and she relaxed but took a new look at him. It explained a lot. People were beginning to watch him; he was different in his fancy suit, while everyone else wore casual jeans and Hawaiian tees. She nodded at him and smiled, jotting down the information she needed to submit his form while he held open his badge.

After he went back to his seat, she slid in her chair to get his file. The wheels made it easy to slide across the tile floor, and the file cabinet was no longer locked. She fingered through the tabs until she found H and moved her fingers slower, biding time until she could reach his. Normally it was a routine job, but she found herself honestly curious about this man, and she tried to quell it as she wrapped her fingers around the manila file and yanked it free of its confinement. She pushed herself back over to her desk, grabbing the paper with his information and preparing to slide it in. While she was under pretense, she managed a few quick glances at his private sheet. Aaron Hotchner, agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Words jumped out at her; **explosion**, **gunshots**, **extreme stress**, and **possible loss of hearing evident**.

She dropped his file in the box and let her fingers caress the buzzer for a moment before she pushed it, lost in contemplation. She took a new look at the man who was going deaf slowly, noticing first how he didn't belong here. She knew he should be out saving lives, not petrified about his own. It made her sad to think that one less hero would be on the streets because a cruel game was played in life. With a sad shake of her head, she started taking info for the woman who next approached her window.

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As the bartender served yet another soda to the woman on the barstool, he soaked in her features for the fourth time. She never got less attractive. She had the kind of sharp features that along with her monkey suit told him she was a business woman, and probably had intelligence to go with it. Her dark brown hair was straight along her face, and the reddish tint gave her the look of a descendant of Cleopatra. He gave himself a pat on the back for his humor before serving another water to her friend, wondering why she would be seen in public with someone so--opposite. Well, Frank supposed; to each his, or her, own. He made his way down the bar to serve another complaining drunk.

Emily stirred her soda, watching the ice form a small whirlpool before settling down and clanking against the sides of her glass. Normally when she felt so twisted inside she would drink away her sorrows, but she wanted a clear mind tonight. The guy next to her jumped slightly, spreading his arms out when he spilt water all down himself, and he grabbed a napkin from the bar and dabbed gently on his blue shirt. Emily snorted. This was exactly why she had brought him along. Comic relief.

"Way to miss your mouth, Reid."

"I can't believe I just did that." His mumble made her laugh again, and even more so when he turned his face from the hot woman beside him to survey Emily. He had a puppy-dog look about him, and Prentiss was glad women weren't trying to come up and take him home. Not that he would know what to do with himself if that ever happened. For all the things in the world Spencer Reid did know, women weren't high on the list. As a matter of fact, Emily wasn't sure if they were on the list at all. He blinked at her from behind his horn-rimmed glasses, and his gaze was concerned. Prentiss groaned internally, knowing what was coming before his geeky voice formed it.

"What's wrong? I mean, normally you would be home right now, or at least here with Morgan and Garcia."

As much as Prentiss wanted to avoid this conversation, she knew he was right. It was common for her to either collapse onto her water bed at home, or go to some sort of freaky dance club with her colleagues. Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia knew how to party, and they definitely wouldn't let her even think about her sorrows. Maybe, Emily thought, that was the real reason she had asked Reid to accompany her. Maybe on some subconscious level, she did want to talk.

She had wanted to bring Rossi, and hope that she could pull some more info about Hotch out of him. It was probably why he had gone home so early. He must have known her true intent, and for that she was sorry. She hadn't meant to scare him off. Realizing she had yet to answer her genius colleague, she shrugged and set down her glass.

"Life, I suppose."

"Did you know that ninety five percent of the entire population say they hate life at least once?"

Emily spared him an exasperated glance, and he pulled back. It was an interesting fact, but it really had nothing to do with her. She didn't hate life, she just didn't understand it.

"Sorry."

"No problem." She took another swig of her glass, and when she saw the bartender calling a taxi for some drunk patron, she suddenly knew this was not where she wanted to be. She turned to Reid, lying twenty bucks on the table to cover both of them. He blinked at the money then up at her, and from the way his face fell she could tell he thought he had ruined everything.

"It isn't you, Reid. I just--I need to go do something. Rain check?"

He nodded, still looking misplaced. She sighed, then was hit with sudden inspiration. She smiled at him, pointing discreetly at a woman in the corner who turned her head as soon as she saw them watching her.

"That girl has been staring at you since we arrived." Reid's incredulous look was amusing. "Yes, you. Go talk to her."

She clapped him on the shoulder and walked out, grateful for the fresh air to cleanse her mind.

She started walking down the street, her hands in her pockets and her eyes darting between different objects that caught her attention. There was no way she could walk home in under an hour, and she wondered why she was leaving her car in the parking lot. She was doing a lot of odd things lately.

And speaking of odd...

Wasn't that an FBI issue black SUV starting its engine in the parking lot of the otolaryngologist? Yes, Emily was sure of it.

She should have known it was Hotch before he looked out his window and caught her eye through the glass, and both of them froze.


	4. A Twist in the Story

Through the adrenaline rush, Emily felt her fight or flight instincts kicking in. She was balanced precariously on the sidewalk, one foot already reaching for the asphalt that would bring her closer to him. The other foot was holding back, the rational half of her mind keeping it on a string and telling her she shouldn't be so eager to cross that street. It was only human nature to be curious about something, and Emily Prentiss was definitely curious. But, if she were to be completely honest with herself, she would know it was much more than curiosity running through her veins. God, what was wrong with her? When had she developed this crush?

Meanwhile, Hotch was wrapped up in his own thoughts. He could clearly see the face of one of his agents staring back at him from across the street. It was a small town, but it was never his intention to get caught while he was out here. Along with the fact that he wasn't ready for company, the doctor's new information was bouncing around in his head. He needed to share this with people, and soon. How the hell was he supposed to do that? Aaron Hotchner was a private person, and while he didn't mind listening to or sharing certain things, this was something so personal it wasn't on that list. Of any person he was going to tell, Emily Prentiss hadn't been one of them. He had expected her to hear the news secondhand, and he had wanted to be long gone by that time.

It seemed not all things were going to go as he had planned, because she appeared to finally worked up the nerve and walked toward him. He fought the urge to rev the engine and take off, knowing it was quite possibly the dumbest thing he could do. He rolled down his window as she got closer and turned his head so he could easily survey her lips. He could hear her words clearly enough, but there was too much buzzing for him to discern her vocal emotions.

"Hey."

He didn't respond with words, but instead opted for a neutral nod. She seemed a bit putout, and he could have hit himself. He kept his face blank.

"Fancy seeing you here." With a nod of her head she indicated the office he had just walked out of, and he unconsciously followed her eyes. They had a bit of curiosity in them, which he had suspected, and worry and concern he had not. Why should she care so much? Sure he was her boss, but anything work related would be shared at work. He bit back the urge to tell her that.

"Why are you out here alone?" It was a natural thing for someone like him, to answer an indirect or direct question with another question. He let his own concern for her show, noticing how dark it was getting and how strange people were beginning to walk the streets. It really wasn't safe, but if he told her that she would get defensive and leave. She shrugged, testing a theory by looking away when she spoke under the pretense of surveying a rowdy bunch of teens.

"I was at the bar with Reid, and decided to cop out early."

"Why would you go to a bar with Reid?"

From the way she looked at him in surprise, he could guess what she had suspected. She knew much more than she was letting on, and he could assume by that that others did too. It hurt worse than it should have. He could have guessed that a team of professional profilers would be able to profile someone they had spent every day of the last few years with. He offered her a smile, for his words had been nothing close to serious. He would never criticize one of his team members, the geeky genius included.

"Scratch that. Hey, you want a ride?" It was a spur of the moment thing, and combined with the fact he didn't want her walking home in the dark alone, it seemed rational enough. His voice was inching toward playful, as she had only heard him after cases were done and everyone was ready to go home. It only forced her mind to further realize where they were right now. Her heart skipped a beat at his offer and the sparkle in his normally harsh eyes.

"Uh--sure, I guess."

And she climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up as he took off.

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The ride was awkward, and virtually silent. Emily faltered when she tried to give him directions only to be cut off by his calm but assertive voice; of course he already knew where she lived, he had access to all her personal files. She had almost forgotten he had been by her place already when he tried to convince her to return to the BAU. The thought made her squirm, though she tried to hide it. The quiet was peaceful, but overwhelming after a while. Emily had never known it was possible to feel suffocated by silence until this ride. She wanted to say something--anything--that would end it. She knew that rushing into a blurted conversation could be potentially devastating for both of them, so she managed to refrain only by biting her delicate lip.

Hotch, for his part, wasn't really trying to avoid conversation. After all, he could hear her just fine, especially when she was close enough he could smell her unique mix of lavender and vanilla, but the doctor's words were still bouncing around his brain like a pinball machine. His fingers had tightened themselves on the wheel without his knowledge, and he had to make a conscious effort to unclench them every few minutes. His moment to break the silence arrived when they pulled up to a stoplight, and he reached over to turn on the radio.

"Anything in particular you listen to?"

Emily startled. She might have been wishing for the silence to end, but she hadn't actually expected it to and his sudden words scared her. Recovering quickly, albeit looking oddly amused at sharing car-talk with Aaron Hotchner, she smiled.

"Uh--no, actually. Just about anything will do it."

He nodded, leaning back against the headrest and continuing on down the road. She knew they had about another five minutes before they would reach her apartment, and she was grateful for the music to keep out another odd silence. It took her a handful of moments before she actually began to absorb the words though, and she was lucky for the cool interior of the SUV to keep her face from heating.

_...we're alone now. _

_Not a whisper. The only noise is the receiver._

_I'm counting the seconds until you break the silence. So please just break this silence._

Emily didn't know who was singing or what it was called, but it almost felt like they were profiling her. She turned her sharp eyes to stare out the window, avoiding a chance meeting with the matching pair of sharp eyes opposite her. She zoned out for a while, determined to block the close-to-home words, but eventually she couldn't think of anything else to focus on and the music made its way back into her ears, as she had known it would.

_I'm longing for words to describe how I'm feeling._

_I'm feeling inspired; my world just flipped turned upside down._

_It turned around. Hey what's that sound?_

_It's my heartbeat--it's getting much louder. My heartbeat is stronger than ever._

_I'm feeling so alive. I'm feeling so alive._

The vehicle's driver was actually doing quite the opposite of its passenger. He rarely listened to modern music, but he was intently absorbing the words and preparing to mark the artist down when the announcer next spoke. It wasn't often a song hit him. He had never been much for music, but this artist deserved a basket of muffins. He allowed himself to wonder why he felt so close to the lyrics before he was pulling into Emily's driveway and staring up at her apartment window. The curtain's were drawn shut, as was typical for anyone in their profession. He turned the music down reluctantly, courtesy overruling desire for the time being. She fidgeted with her seatbelt for a moment before she unbuckled herself and grabbed her small, black purse from the floor.

"Bright and early tomorrow, Prentiss."

"Yeah." He was putting distance between them again, and she tried not to let it hurt. On a whim, she let her mouth blurt the words that had been on her mind ever since she had seen the SUV parked at the otolaryngologists. "What did they say?"

Hotch didn't try to pretend not to know what she was talking about, but that didn't mean he was comfortable. He briefly recalled his speech about trust with Morgan, the agent who found it hard to trust anyone, even his closest team members. Before he could censor it, the words were flying out unbidden.

"She said there was a good chance my hearing would be completely gone in two months."

Emily froze, but tried to cover it up by nodding and climbing out of the car. "Thanks, Hotch." It was quite obvious to both of them she was referring to more than the ride.

She received no reply, but she walked up her steps and watched him drive away. As soon as he was down the road, he turned the music back up and closed his eyes at a convenient stoplight.

_It's time I opened up. And let your love right through me._

_'Cause that's what you get. When you see your life through someone else's eyes._

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**A/N- The song is: A Twist in My Story by Secondhand Serenade. Don't fret, there will be some actual case work coming up, promise. Once again, thanks for the awesome reviews!**


	5. A Bridge Between Languages

"He doesn't seem to speak English. None of us can understand him."

Emily nodded, running her fingers through her damp hair as a substitute for the brush her bag lacked. She wasn't angry at being called to the office at four in the morning. It was routine now, and it no longer bothered her. She had never needed much sleep, for which she was grateful. She hadn't gotten much after her eventful night. The officer briefing her was young and good-natured with a serious air about him, and his demeanor reminded her oddly of a mixture between Morgan and Reid. It was disconcerting.

"I'll get through to him." It was a promise, and one she intended to keep. If what they were saying was true, and their unsub was speaking Arabic, then she should know every word. Apparently there were some benefits to having a political background. Alongside her mother, she had been forced to painstakingly learn nine languages. Arabic had always been her best, followed closely by Chinese and French. She continued following the man whose name she was sadly lacking, and entered when he held the door open for her.

The man was definitly Arabic, she could tell by his skin tone and facial structure. She had spent enough time down there to commit it to memory, even without the eidetic memory Reid had. He wrung his hands together on the table, but it seemed more out of neccesity than nerves. He seemed like the kind of guy who was in control, and the kind that would be tougher to break. He wore a wrap around his head, but Emily could see a lock of brown hair. The thought occured to her that most Arabs didn't wear their hair long or such a coffee shade of brown...

Hotch stood against the wall, professional mode surrounding him in an air. This wasn't the Hotch who had driven her home last night, and it was easy for her to accept that. She had never had a problem seperating work and personal. In fact, she needed to to survive. Rossi already sat at the interogation table, and she slid into the empty chair. She was grateful for the choice of her assistants in this interrogation; Hotch was an intimidating prescence to the unsub, and Rossi would be the opposite. Their personalities would clash in an echo of good cop-bad cop, and she could play the translator. Sparing no time in getting to the point, Emily got right down to business.

It was something they liked about her.

"Hal tatahaddeth al enjlizieh?"

Hotch managed to refrain from rubbing his ears, reminding himself that Emily speaking Arabic was the enitre reason they had called her in the first place. It just seemed so odd, hearing those sultry words and that seductive accent coming from someone he thought he knew so well.

The man seemed surprised that there were words he could understand, but he waisted no time in replying. "Laa."

She could feel her shoulders slump at his negative answer, but she didn't let herself get putout. Hotch was trying to keep up, but Emily knew both he and Rossi were quite lost. She would translate later.

"Esmiî Emily Prentiss. Má ismuk?"

He tilted his head at her as if considering whether or not to answer, and she knew his words would be false before he uttered them. "Esmiî Karokk."

She saw Hotch take down something on a small yellow notebook he had taken out of his inner shirt pocket, and she was glad he had understood that, at least. His name was Karokk, and they had something more to work with even if it was fake.

"Shukrān jazēlan." Emily's voice inflection was natural, but her accent was slightly rusty. It felt like it had been years since she had spoken in anything other than English, and it was refreshing in a way. Her patient demeanor was permeating the room, and the other bodies that resided in the cramped place seemed to feed off of it.

"Al'afw." The fact that he had acknowledged her praise gave her hope. She prepared to try for more, but he interrupted her. She was surprised, but she let him talk. "Tatakallamo alloghah al arabiah."

He was surprised she knew the language. She wanted to laugh, but kept a neutral smile on her face instead. "Ajal."

"Lā afham."

"Lugha wāhida lā takfī."

He was pleasantly surprised at her formal answer, and he even allowed himself a smile. He reached out to shake her hand, and she knew she had finally broken solid ground. He had a firm grip, but it felt all wrong, somehow. She was glad to have her hand back when he was through. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest and seeming to have dark eyes only for her. She shivered, and his smile grew. Sensing the break in her confident attitude, Rossi broke in.

"Ask him if he knows English."

"I did. He says he doesn't."

Rossi raised an eyebrow at Karokk, a disbeliving look in his eye. "He comes to the country for eight months, but doesn't learn the language? Ask him again."

Prentiss nodded. "Hal tatahaddeth al enjlizieh. Arjuu-ka." She didn't like pleading with him, but it seemed to work.

"Na'am, qaleelan."

She turned to Rossi. "He says he speaks a little."

"You've earned his respect." There was unvoiced praise in the senior agent's voice, and Emily was proud. He nodded toward Hotch, who led the three out. Emily was stopped at the door by Karokk's deep and accented voice.

"Ila'lli'qa'."

She shivered, wishing he hadn't chose to pinpoint her for his farewell.

"Ila'lli'qa'."

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"That was impressive." Morgan's walk-by comment made her smile, but she didn't take the time to thank him. She was speed walking to keep up with Hotch and Rossi's fast pace, and if she slowed down she would lose them. They stopped in Hotch's office, and he shut the door behind them. Emily wondered at his expression before he spoke, and she felt her own sense of horror grip her.

"It is important we get this guy. We have enough basic stuff on him to keep him here, but he probably has outside contacts and we don't need the place bombed to break him out. The sooner we get through to him the better."

Rossi nodded, catching on quickly. "They found several heavy bomb chemical traces on his hands. That's enough to keep him in for a year at most, but if we can't prove anything further he'll go home and finish what he started."

"If his buddies haven't already," Prentiss finished, nodding. She was recalling somewhere in the back of her mind a case almost similar to how this one was turning out to be. Gideon had still been here then, and they had outsmarted the terrorist using a unique combination of wits that all belonged to him. Without Gideon, Emily wondered if they would have the same luck. Rossi had negotiated his share of bombings, but had he ever gotten a terorist to confess? They were dedicated and loyal to their calling, and extremely hard to break under any circumstance. Emily found that under further inspection of her feelings, she had complete confidence in Agent Rossi's abilities.

"Exactly. So we need to work hard and fast. The police are already going through evidence with J.J, and Morgan called Garcia and got her started on anything she can find. It's our job to handle Karokk."

Emily nodded again, crossing her arms under her chest and shifting so she could stand comfortably while still looking professional. "What makes him so dangerous? I understand there were traces of bomb materials, but they could really be from anything. At innocent worse, a small bomb with a minimal charge." Emily could tell by the look Hotch was trying to hide that the concept of another bomber scared him...and much more than he cared to admit. She gave an unconscious flick of the eye to his ear, but pulled back quickly when he turned her way.

Hotch was quick to dispel her innocent notions with a stern look and a dead serious expression.

"Due to some evidence found and matched, the department thinks he is partially responsible for the bombing that took place on 9/11."

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**A/N- Although I'm sure many of you already know the words given their responces and such, I'll spill. ****Hal tatahaddeth al enjlizieh?** means _do you speak English_. **Laa** means _no_. **Esmiî Emily Prentiss. ****Má ismuk?: **_My name is Emily Prentiss, what is yours? _**Shukrān jazēlan**: _Thank you_, and then the response of **Al'afw** means _you're welcome_. **Tatakallamo alloghah al arabiah**: _You speak Arabic. _**Ajal**: _Yes_. **Lā afham**: _I don't understand._ **Lugha wāhida lā takfī**: _One language is never enough_. **Ila'lli'qa': **_good-bye._


	6. A Mistake Comes To Light

As Emily stared at the puzzle left by the unsub bombers, she couldn't help but wish Reid were here. He was supposed to be. He would have had this done three hours ago. The mere mention of his name was enough to send a pang of worry to somewhere deep in her chest, but she shoved it aside and kept working. Her hand was buried into her hair; it had been there a while, a product of her mounting frustration. She had never been good at these sorts of things. Everyone else was off doing something or the other: Rossi and Morgan were at the Karokk's house looking through his things, Hotch and J.J. were running victimology. Even Garcia was being used to track down some lost information via computer.

But Emily was here. Alone. With a puzzle. Lifting her pen, she scribbled a possible answer to one of the scrambled lines in black ink. She only had to look at it for a few seconds to know it didn't work, and she vigorously scratched it out again until it was so smothered in pen you couldn't read what she had wrote. She had already tried several different Arabic phrases, but it was becoming obvious that it wasn't in their native tongue. It had to be in English.

Hotch had called Reid almost six times, leaving four consecutive messages. The last time Reid had failed to answer his phone regarding work he had been on drugs, but there had been no symptoms this time. No one thought this was a recurring case. In fact, they were sure drugs weren't a factor. He had been fine at the club, Emily knew, so she attributed that to nothing as well. Her brown eyes flickered to the clock, knowing there was another team meeting in two hours. She was supposed to have this cracked by then.

If Reid didn't show up in half an hour, she was calling Hotch.

Her decision made, she looked back to the paper. Her hand clutched at her dark hair and she closed her eyes for a second to calm herself.

**TVRN LRYEH AEENEDE**

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Across town in the comfy little police station of Bakersfield, Ohio, Hotch and J.J. stood side by side glaring holes in a board. J.J. was not a technical part of the team, but her insight and advice had proved useful on numerous occasions. Even pregnant and fighting hormones, Jennifer Jareau had more common sense than most. She scanned her eyes over the thumbtacked papers again, sighing when nothing new popped out. Hotch did the same, his tense posture relaxing for a split second before he turned and shook his head.

"This isn't working." J.J. voiced both their thoughts with an understanding tone.

Hotch agreed whole-heartedly. "Karokk and his team hit a nursing home, a cancer ward, and a public bathroom. 173 people dead, of all ages, genders, and races. There is no common link. He's hitting random places and random people."

"I thought there was always a link."

Hotch was saved from having to respond by his phone vibrating in his shirt pocket. He slipped it out, staring at the word 'Prentiss' for almost a whole five seconds before answering. "Hotchner." A sigh filtered through the phone, and he knew what it was before she said it. "Reid still not there?"

J.J. turned to look at him in surprise as Emily spoke into his ear. "No. And I can't get this alone, Hotch."

As much as he doubted that, he knew what she meant. She _could _get it alone, just not in the time alloted to her. It would be frustrating, especially knowing that Reid would have had it done hours ago.

"Alright. I'll send Rossi over there."

"Morgan needs him."

"You need him more. We're short one, and we'll have to make due until he shows."

At her affirmative hum, he slapped shut his cell phone and turned back to the board. Without asking questions, J.J. followed.

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Four hours later, the entire team was holed together in the tiny room given to them for conference purposes. It was apparent Reid wasn't going to show, and Emily was rushing through their short night together, omitting the ride home and surprise at Hotch's visit. She had gone through everything almost five times, two of them mentally. Her anger at herself for not solving what should have been a simple puzzle and the awkwardness of not knowing what she was feeling toward Hotch was beginning to take over her mind in waves.

She went through her night one more time, knowing there had to be something she missed.

_The bar was smoke-filled and crowded, the kind of place Emily expected to go looking for unsubs. She was half tempted to go out to the alley on the side and check for bodies. Reid tensed behind her as soon as they were both through the door, but Emily smiled at him and he managed a fairly relaxed smile back. No one turned to look at them when they entered, and they managed to slide up to the bar without interruption. There was a dance floor where most of the inhabitants were grinding and moshing. Emily made it a point not to look over there as goosebumps broke out over her flesh. The music was pounding, and she could feel it more than she could hear it._

_The bartender's name was Frank Jessum. It was one of those things you did when you had the type of job Emily had; you memorized license plates, names, and badge numbers. He was suddenly in front of them, hefty and heavy-built with muscles that layered out over his arms. He looked like he could have acted as a bodyguard in his spare time, and he was drying a glass with one hand when he took their order._

_"What'll it be?" His voice was deep and heavy, an octave lower than most guys she knew. Both his tone and his choice of words told her that he could be much smarter than his position entailed, and that most people overlooked him. Emily looked at Reid, and he cleared his throat before answering in his typical cracking voice._

_"I'll just have water."_

_Frank turned toward Emily, his eyes greedily taking her in for the first time. She was much prettier than the normal skanks that walked through the door, and he fully planned on enjoying her presence. Emily met his gaze head-on, not intimidated in the least._

_"I'll have a soda."_

_He nodded and turned to get their drinks from behind the bar. Emily dropped her hands in her lap, the bass making the sawdust on the floor bounce with every thump it gave. Reid noticed her morose attitude for the first time then, and he wondered if he should mention it. Building up the nerve, he almost choked on his words and it came out as more of an incoherent squeak. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a smile, and he faltered for the third time since he'd arrived. Working up courage he hadn't had since the drug problem, he blinked at her. Frank brought their drinks, and Reid almost forgot what he had been about to say with the momentary distraction. Emily took a swig of hers, and while she was not concentrating he spilled._

_"Is something wrong?"_

_Emily looked at him, licking the flavor of Pepsi from her lips. "Why would you think that?"_

_Answering a question with a question was a common thing among law enforcement, and it only reinforced Reid's assumption. "You just seem...down. Not like yourself."_

_She drained her soda in a few gulps while she contemplated an answer, and the bartender took his second fill of her. As soon as she set her empty glass on the counter he slid her another one, and she smiled at him as a thanks. He nodded, staring a second before taking the order of a woman who had just walked in. Emily took the time to survey her while Reid drank his water and waited for an answer._

_She was thin and blonde, the kind of girl you would expect to see with a bunny outfit. Except this one had an odd look on her face; frightened, almost. Emily zoned in on the oddity as she was trained to do, profiling her jerky moves and darting eyes. Something was off with her, but wasn't something wrong in every bar that resides in the U.S.? Her procrastinating coming to and end, she turned back to Reid._

_"I'm a little down, I guess."_

_Reid nodded, accepting another water from Frank as the man took another fill from Emily. Both of them noticed his staring, and both of them disregarded it. Emily watched the woman take a seat across the bar from them, closer to the dance floor. As soon as she sat down, her green eyes were on Reid. Emily tried not to laugh, noticing herself for the first time how Reid did not belong in this place. Emily drained her second soda, starting on a third when it was brought to her. Reid went to take a sip of his water, and Emily was glad for the respite when she laughed at him._

_"Way to miss your mouth, Reid."_

_"I can't believe I just did that." His mumble made her laugh again, and even more so when he turned his face from the hot woman beside him to survey Emily. He had a puppy-dog look about him, and Prentiss was glad women weren't trying to come up and take him home. Namely that woman, the one who was still staring with the intensity of a green-eyed hawk. Not that he would know what to do with himself if that ever happened. For all the things in the world Spencer Reid did know, women weren't high on the list. As a matter of fact, Emily wasn't sure if they were on the list at all. He blinked at her from behind his horn-rimmed glasses, and his gaze was concerned. Prentiss groaned internally, knowing what was coming before his geeky voice formed it._

_"What's wrong? I mean, normally you would be home right now, or at least here with Morgan and Garcia."_

_As much as Prentiss wanted to avoid this conversation, she knew he was right. It was common for her to either collapse onto her water bed at home, or go to some sort of freaky dance club with her colleagues. Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia knew how to party, and they definitely wouldn't let her even think about her sorrows. Maybe, Emily thought, that was the real reason she had asked Reid to accompany her. Maybe on some subconscious level, she did want to talk. _

_"Life, I suppose."_

_"Did you know that ninety five percent of the entire population say they hate life at least once?"_

_Emily spared him an exasperated glance, and he pulled back. It was an interesting fact, but it really had nothing to do with her. She didn't hate life, she just didn't understand it._

_"Sorry."_

_"No problem." She took another swig of her glass, and when she saw the bartender calling a taxi for some drunk patron, she suddenly knew this was not where she wanted to be. She turned to Reid, lying twenty bucks on the table to cover both of them. He blinked at the money then up at her, and from the way his face fell she could tell he thought he had ruined everything._

_"It isn't you, Reid. I just--I need to go do something. Rain check?"_

_He nodded, still looking misplaced. She sighed, then was hit with sudden inspiration. She smiled at him, pointing discreetly at the woman in the corner who turned her head as soon as she saw them watching her. _

_"That girl has been staring at you since we arrived." Reid's incredulous look was amusing. "Yes, you. Go talk to her."_

_She clapped him on the shoulder and walked out, grateful for the fresh air to cleanse her mind._

Her face lifted in a dawning expression, and the entire team knew with one look she had gotten it.

"There was a woman. I encouraged him to go talk with her...she had been staring at him the entire hour we were there. I left right away, so I don't know if he did or not, but..."

"We can assume he did," Rossi cut in, trying to spare her feelings. He could already tell this would end, no matter how it all came down, with her blaming herself. Reid had blamed himself for her beating, and now karma had reversed their positions.

Hotch rose, and several others on the team followed his example quickly. "We need to find this woman. Emily...sketch artist?"

If anyone noticed how the professional Prentiss was suddenly gone from Hotch's voice, it was kept quiet. "Right." As always, she was ready to go without interference.

This could be the third time Reid had been kidnapped and the second time she was involved, but the first time it was her fault.

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**A/N- The first person to unscramble the phrase gets a prize!**


	7. A Change in Plans

When it came to his team members being harmed, Hotch had never been a passive person. There had been Gideon, who was hurt several times but always managed to take care of himself in the end. There was also Elle, who blamed him for her shooting and later lost everything when she broke down and shot a suspect. No one could forget Reid, who had been kidnapped and tortured at the hands of a religious fanatic. The same fanatic locked J.J. in a barn full of dogs who had just torn apart a woman. Hotch could still clearly hear Reid telling "Rafiel" that he wanted Hotch to be shot. Of course there had been a hidden message, but his worst fear was his team turning against him. Garcia had been shot by someone she had thought she could trust, and more colorful objects had been planted in her office since then. She had coped just fine in the end. There was Morgan, who had been molested as a child and was willing to be thrown in jail rather than let his team members know. It had put a major dent in Hotch's relationship with the young Chicago native, and he had yet to gain back that trust. Having Morgan basically tell Hotch that he didn't even trust him with his life hadn't helped. Emily had been kidnapped and beaten only a week ago, and she still wore her make-up thicker in spots to cover the bruises.

Hotch didn't stop to dwell on the fact that he had stopped calling her Prentiss.

Yes, it was a fact that there was only one member who had yet to be hurt in any way. Hotch had been in an explosion a few weeks back that would affect him for the rest of his life. He still found himself flinching near construction sites, for which he cursed himself in showing weakness. He had lost Kate, who he had been trying to hold on to. She had looked just like Haley. Yet another thing he had lost--Haley and Jack had been his world, and now he could only see his son when time and a court paper allowed it. It killed him, and he would have gone through another explosion willingly just to have his little boy returned to him.

That one member was David Rossi. Rossi had come flying in after Gideon was gone, proclaiming he was ready to return to work after his long absence for his book showings. Hotch had been skeptical at first but quickly accepted him into their team when he saw the man was genuine. Rossi had been involved in a case that hit home, but he had taken care of it with professionalism and saved the lives of three children. Hotch admired that, but it didn't kill his worry that something bad would soon happen to the newest member of their team.

But instead, Reid had been scooped up and taken once more.

Part of Hotch; an angry, jealous part, wanted to argue that it was Rossi's turn. But he fought it off in favor of planning his young genius' safe return. Emily worked beside him, adding small marks or points on the sketch that had been drawn--her recollection of the woman. Hotch had glanced it over and conceited that the tall blonde looked just like any other woman in Virginia; tall and blonde. It sent a pang through him when it reminded him of Haley and Kate, but he pushed aside the unprofessional feeling and forged on. Just as he prepared to ask Emily how she was handling the situation, another tall blonde stormed in and just about threw a Manila file onto the table. Emily glanced up with an annoyed and concerned glance, but J.J. didn't seem to notice.

"There's been another bombing."

"What?" Hotch barely heard his voice echoed by the brunette female beside him, as his attention was now fully focused on J.J. with a laser-sharp intensity that made her want to flinch. She echoed herself, continuing on with her information.

"This one was in Kentucky. It hit a small hospital."

Emily groaned and dropped her pen while Hotch picked up the file that lay neglected on the glass-topped table. "A hospital?"

"Yes. Seventy-six dead, and about half that being transported to another hospital as we speak."

Emily spoke, confusion and anger marring across her face. "Why would you attack a place where people were already dying?"

"The bomb landed directly on top of the breakroom, and almost every doctor in the entire place was killed. Out of the seventy-six, twenty-four of them were employees."

Hotch looked down, the sketch of a blonde woman taunting him from the white paper. This woman had Reid, but hundreds of people were dying in several states across the country. He couldn't afford to split up the team over so far a distance. They would have to chose one, and he knew it had already been chosen for them the moment Karokk had been brought into their building.

"Wheels up in an hour."

Before Emily or J.J. could protest, he was out the door in a breeze of guilt and anger.

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No one boarding the plane was happy about the decision their supervisor had made. In fact, Morgan had outright refused to leave Virginia until they had found Reid, and only a five minute argument with Hotch could convince him to get on the jet. It was pointed out in those heated minutes that Morgan was the bomb expert, and Reid was a genius that could fend for himself. After all, hadn't he done it twice already? Morgan was still fuming when he stalked passed Emily to throw himself into a seat. Emily herself wasn't pleased, but Rossi had yet to comment on Hotch's choice. Emily could recall the disbelief written on the senior agent's face when Hotch had told them, but no words had been uttered against it.

Hotch was getting it worst of all from where he sat against a window, his hand holding his head and covering his eyes. He wanted no part of this, and as the engine started he felt his stomach drop for the first time since he was a newbie. For one moment everything was crystal clear, and in the next it would turn black and white. He wasn't able to take this. The what-ifs were flying through his head. Hotch was not a spontaneous person, but profiles could be altered slightly under strenuous circumstances. Before the plane could leave the ground, Hotch was stalking over to Emily with a suitcase over his shoulder. His gaze was serious and slightly glazed, and Emily was frightened for a moment.

"Get your stuff. We're staying."

In the end, Hotch and Emily watched their team members fly away to Kentucky from the ground. The moment ended when Hotch turned and headed for the S.U.V, and Emily followed quickly.

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**A/N- Persimmon was correct! The answer to the scrambling was 'They Never Learned'. In order to get the prize, Persimmon, you must contact me! And another, for anyone willing to try again. ****MTEB TGTS UH YAHEUT**** (From now on, please message me the answers.) ;)**


	8. A Short Ride Up

This drive was easier than the last one had been, and Emily realized it only dimly. She was too busy trying to pretend she wasn't staring at Hotch as he drove, jaw set and fingers white-knuckled. It made her nervous to see him so...angry? No, not angry. Concentrated, maybe, or even guilty. It would explain the feeling radiating off of him in waves that almost made her choke. Of course he would feel guilty about choosing to save hundreds of lives over the one that belonged to his friend. Belatedly, she wondered how Morgan was handling the fact that Hotch had chosen her to accompany him instead. She couldn't help a small beam of pride that she smashed immediately. She had no right to be feeling things like that, at least not until they got Reid back safely. Once again, it was Hotch that broke the slightly-less-than-awkward silence.

"Did she have some kind of accent, or facial features?"

At the mention of an accent she looked at him sharply, reminded of Kate. Her heart twisted as she sighed. "No, she never spoke. Anything I could remember was put into the drawing," she reminded him gently. He flinched, shifting slightly in his seat.

"It doesn't help to go over it again, Emily." Any happiness she might have found in his utterance of her name faded at his rebuke. He must have noticed her crestfallen features from the corner of his eye, because he turned to her and grimaced. "Sorry. I'm...a bit uptight today."

She relaxed. "We all are, Hotch." Her excusal of him didn't include his first name, and she was sure he noticed. She couldn't quite bring herself to say it, no matter how much she wanted them to move forward. Professionality was ingrained into her pysch, and it felt too rude to be speaking to her boss on such terms. God, she hated her mom sometimes. Without another word, he leaned forward and snapped on the radio. She winced at the volume, wondering if he even realized how loud he had it. Could he hear it?

_I promise you, kid, that I give so much more than I get. I just haven't met you yet._

The bouncy rhythym was infecting, but she refrained from tapping her food on the rubber mat. Why was it that every radio station played a song that reminded her of them? What happened to songs about life, or standing up for yourself; or artists like Britney Spears and Pink? Surely neither of them ever played anything sappy or endearing... She stopped, realizing she had insulted some very formidable singers. She rolled her eyes at herself as herself as Hotch turned another block corner. They were almost there, and for all his urgency he had slowed down slightly when the music had started.

_I might have to wait. I'll never give up. I guess it's half timing, and the other half is luck._

Emily actually snorted, turning to look out the window and avoid Hotch's questioning gaze. When they finally made it to the parking lot of their beloved building, she was out before the music even stopped. Hotch came around the front, seeming to glide effortlessly toward the building despite his fast pace.

"What's your hurry?" he teased gently. She shot a sharp glance toward him. What happened to uptight? When he cleared his throat and looked away, she cursed herself.

"I guess I blame myself for what happened," she explained. When he raised an eyebrow at her and held open the door, she felt herself blush. She hadn't meant to cover her awkwardness by admitting fault. The elevator loomed ahead of her, feeling eight feet taller and evil. It was only the third floor they were heading to, but it would feel like a lifetime to reach it and she already knew. She held herself straight as Hotch followed her in and pressed the button.

"You shouldn't," he murmured quietly. She sighed, somehow not releasing her tense posture.

"You sound like Rossi," she informed him. He swivelled his head to pout at her.

"Ouch," he joked. She chuckled quietly, ignoring the instrumental of Mandy as it filtered through the intercom of the ceiling. It was nice to have these moments with him, despite the awkward edges that tinged them. "But really. We'll find him, and he'll beat you up for blaming yourself."

She laughed outright at the thought. "I'd like to see him try." She unconsciously clenched her hands together as if she were wringing someone's neck, letting them go the instant he laughed at her.

"You're right. I'm only kidding...I know not many men have a chance against you," he praised quietly. She felt the flush rise up her neck again, and restrained from cursing him. Emily was forced to swallow her gratitude as the elevator chimed open, and she went out ahead of him to her desk. Papers cluttered around it, left behind in her hurry of yesterday night, but she picked out the one she wanted instantly. Paperclipped to the information was the sketch of Blondie and a list of possible names Garcia had printed off that matched the haphazard description. Several were marked out in red pen after further investigation, but there were a total of eleven names left. Emily felt the breath leave her in a frustrated sigh. Hotch came up behind her and laid a calming hand on her shoulder. "Come on...my office will be better for this."

She clutched the papers and followed him, refusing to admit to herself how the short contact felt branded on her skin.


	9. A Cracking Whip

"Please. Please, stop," the blubbering voice agonized. There was still a hint of something hidden under the pleading. Something tricky, or clever...maybe even superior. The man hidden in shadows snarled and snapped his wrist, smirking in perverse pleasure at the sound of leather whipping flesh and the shriek that emitted because of it. Blood already made a thin layer on the cement floor, and it was this that Reid stared at throughout the entire exchange.

The Shadow Man had already informed him that he would be next. "As soon as this toy breaks," he had chuckled. Reid shuddered at the mere thought, staring as more blood dripped and another whip cracked. He couldn't help flinching every time, and a few times he even pulled against the restraints holding him on the wall. The metal handcuffs had chaffed his wrists already until they were slippery with blood and so numb he could no longer feel the pain of tugging at them. He was sweating, too, the room feeling at least eighty degrees and enough to make the edges of the fresh pool dry. The coppery smell that hung in the air dried out his throat and made him gag, on occasion.

He turned to the left, forcing himself to look away from the scene as the whip cracked a last time. A woman huddled in the corner, restraint-free and holding her knees to her chest with one slender arm. She had looked like a bombshell at the club, sure, but here her blonde hair had turned lank and greasy. A black eye took up half her face and more blood smeared under her nose. Her white nightgown was tattered and dirty. She looked like a slave instead of the confident woman he had approached. She was, really.

He hadn't had a chance to speak with her since she brought him. It was he who had been dumb enough to follow her to her car. He who had been hit over the head with a lead pipe and thrown into the trunk. He who had noticed the picture she clutched in one sweaty fist of two blonde children. He who had come to the conclusion she was forced to do this, and expected her children in return.

He who had been there when she had gotten them.

Her wails of grief still echoed when he thought about it, so he tuned that memory out. She was a pawn, now. He couldn't bring himself to feel anger toward her, though he knew he should. She was quite possibly his ticket out, if he played it right. If _she_ played it right.

"Madeline," he whispered. His voice came out gritty and hoarse and it hurt to speak. He didn't bother to clear it; it was quite possibly he would tear valuable muscles by doing so. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy when she dared to glanced up, but she looked away so quickly the only thing he notcied was the clear blue. "Madeline, my name is Spencer Reid. I'm with the--"

"I know." Her voice was empty, but rimmed with tears. She had cried herself out hours ago, and was left this pitiful husk of a woman shuddering in the corner. Reid flinched just at hearing her. Of course she would have gone through his things...he should have known that. Blinking to cover his surprise, he forged on.

"Madeline, we can still get out of here. I need you to work with me."

"For what? My children are dead, Spencer. And you're here, and it's my fault." The further she got, the higher her voice rose until more tears tracked through the dirt on her cheeks. Reid bit his lip, chewing on it for precious moments as his high-speed brain ran through options.

"I don't blame you, Madeline." The repeated use of her name seemed to get through to her, he noticed. "You wanted to save your children. You're a good mother."

"IF I WAS A GOOD MOTHER MY CHILDREN WOULD BE ALIVE!" she shrieked. She was one her bare feet, now, and panting down at him through her sobs. She fell, then, right onto him. He was unable to hold her but he whispered nothings into the locks of her hair that smothered him that seemed to do just as well. He told her how these things happened, that his team would be looking for him. He told her that he would help her any way he could, though he stammered through it enough to make it unrealistic. After a while, the fists clutching his thin shirt began to relax. Her entire body relaxed.

She had fallen asleep on him.

He couldn't bring himself to feel awkward over it. He had said he would protect her, hadn't he? Not to mention he hadn't seen her sleep since they had gotten here three days ago. But the screaming was over, and a screech was emitted by metal on metal as the unsub threw the door open. Reid didn't miss the body being dragged, but he glanced away before it was thrown into the furnace. That man was the fourth one.

Reid was the fifth.


End file.
